


The Missing Red Pants

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Ficlet, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, Post-Reichenbach, Red Pants, Red Pants Monday, Reunion Sex, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 18:47:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1097392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John notices his pants are missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Missing Red Pants

He’d only kept the pants for sentimental reasons. But for those same sentimental reasons he’d kept close track of the three pair of red pants. Not that he wore them anymore, but they were a reminder of something he’d once had and he couldn’t bear to part with them. But now two pair were missing. He was staring at the last pair in the drawer as if willing them to not vanish out of his life like the man who’d loved seeing him wearing them.

Rubbing his eyes, he sighed and started to close the drawer. _Oh bugger_.  For the first time in a very long time he took them out, sighed, and pulled them on.

He’d lost weight. Of course he knew that intellectually. But seeing the way the pants sagged on his hips was a sharp reminder. He never could be bothered to eat as much since…everything had happened. With a sigh he ran his hands along the material, letting himself remember until tears stung the corners of his eyes and he forced himself to reach for his trousers.

Work went by the same as it ever did. But he found himself sneaking peeks at his pants, as if expecting them to vanish off his person. Somehow he got through the day, though, mentally promising himself he’d take them off as soon as he was home again.

But once he opened the door he couldn’t make it farther than the battered couch. This wasn’t unusual either. The tiny, threadbare, apartment was all he could afford. But Baker Street hurt too much and besides, this was all he deserved. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d failed his friend, could have done something to stop him from… _well let’s not think about that_.

Instead he turned his mind to stolen nights and hurried kisses. He closed his eyes and remembered a slender body moving under his own, warm breath and a human heart. His hands stole down to rub his growing erection through his trousers.  Pale green-blue eyes filled his mind and he moaned aloud, dropping the zipper and squeezing his cock through the pants.

“Red?” his lover had said, perhaps for once in his life shocked by something.

“Yes,” he’d responded, “and only for you.”

He stroked himself now, hand dipping down into the pants, the other one squeezing reflexively as if imagining a hand he once held. Fragments of memory spurred his grip and he didn’t dare stop or else the memories would overwhelm him.

A noise to his left and his eyes flew open. A shadow, someone there. And the gun was in the bedroom. He sat up and stared as the figure moved closer. “You can’t be,” he said, staring up into green-blue eyes.

“John,” the voice was rough.

Without thought he was on his feet, grabbing the front of his shirt and crushing him in a searing kiss. They toppled onto the couch with John on top. He tasted different, but close enough to what he remembered. John found himself stripping clothes. There were a few new scars, but overall the body was the same. His hands were cool on his skin as he tugged his shirt off, hands moving as if to re-memorize the lines of his body.

“You haven’t been eating,” he said, an observation.

“You were dead.”

The cool hands cupped his cheeks, met his eyes. “I had to. I…”

John kissed away the explanation. He’d want to hear it, but not now. Reaching down he loosened his lovers trousers, then stopped, sat back and started laughing. “My pants?”

His lover blushed. “Yes, I took them.”

“I should have known,” John stood and dropped his trousers, then got the other man’s off. “Sherlock Holmes, pants thief.”

“They smell like you,” breathed Sherlock, pulling him back down again.

John kissed him, taking them both in hand. Sherlock wrapped his around as well and they moved together, words lost in pants and groans and need. It had been far too long and neither could last long. They came together, as if there had been no time apart at all.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around him, burying his nose against his neck. He clung to John like he was a life raft in a vast sea. John reached up and smoothed his hair. There was still so much to talk about, to figure out. So many questions. But for now Sherlock was here, underneath him and in this moment all was right.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


End file.
